UNIVERSITY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE.  LIBRARY 


3  1210018387975 


PS3521    JKreymborg,  Alfred 
RU9M8?     "Mushrooms,  16  rhythms, 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


RUNG  CHAP  BOOKS 


lAKLFRED   KREYMBORG 
MUSHROOMS 

\6  Rhythms 


FBLISHED  BY  GUIDO  BRUNO  IN  HIS  GARRET  ON 
AJSHINGTON  SQUARE 

ebruary,  1915  Fifteen  Cents 


Vol.    I FEBRUARY    1915 No.    3 

Mushrooms 

MUSHROOMS  spring  up  over  night,  I'm  told 
— the  truth  or  reason  let  botanists  prove. 
This  much  I  know,  this  I  can  tell :  that  when 
I  go  into  the  forest  I  love,  I  can  find  them  every- 
where. One  of  an  exquisite  hue  of  blue,  an- 
other of  a  passionately  clamorous  of  red  ;  one  of 
an  elfish  daintiness  of  form,  and  that  distorted 
dream  of  Lear's.  I  can  find  each  one,  I  can  find 
them  all,  and  still,  I  do  not,  dare  not,  pluck 
them.  The  forest,  so  rich,  so  lavish,  such  a 
king,  wouldn't  growl  though  I  pluck  all  day. 
But  I  do  not,  will  not — they  would  die,  I  know. 

Mushrooms  spring  up  over  night  in  my  heart 
— the  reason  let  philosophers  guess.  This  much 
I  know,  this  I  can  tell :  myriads  and  myriads 
have  I  found  down  there,  but  only  a  handfull 
have  I  plucked  so  far.  I  plucked  them,  yes,  the 
few  I  could,  lest  they'd  die  with  those  I  couldn't 
reach.  One  was  a  mood  of  pale,  frail  form  ;  an- 
other a  whimsical  sprite ;  one  was  some  black- 
browed  child  of  Lear's,  another — 

I  carry  them  up  to  my  hothouse  attic,  up  to 
my  gardner  for  cultivation . 


Copyright  1915  by  Guido  Bruno 


26  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 

The  Song 

JT  is  a  bit  of  a  river  that  flows  between — be- 
tween the  strip  of  land  on  this  and  the  strip 
of  land  on  that  side.  Thousands  of  honeyless 
hives  bury  the  strip  on  this  ;  thousands  the  strip 
on  that  side — honeyless  hives  choked  by  honey- 
less  two-legged  lives — but  what  of  these  ?  It  is 
night. 

It  is  night,  but  a  song,  borne  by  a  friendly 
wind,  steals  across  the  river,  across  from  yonder 
side  to  this,  across  to  me.  It  is  not  a  song  of 
night's  ;  it  is  not  a  song  of  Nature's  ;  it  is  not 
a  song  of  the  gods'.  It  is — but  stay  !  It  is  not 
for  you.  Your  name  is  Profanation  ;  you  are 
of  the  honeyless  two-legs  that  choke  the  honey - 
less  hives  that  bury  the  earth  ;  you  are — 

It  is  a  bit  of  a  river  that  flows  between.  It  is 
night.  A  song  steals  across  to  me.  And  only 
the  river  'twixt  singer  and  me. 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  27 


np         i 

I  o-day 


Dance,  little  garret,  dance  your  maddest ! 

Come  down,  ceiling,  dance  with  the  floor  ! 

Walls,  a  minuet  chaste,  the  four  of  you  ! 

Pictures,  go  you,  jig  it  gay  ! 

Chairs,  dip,  tango  it,  I  wont  see  you  ! 

You  two  doors,  do  a  houchee-couchee  ! 

As  for  me,  Boys,  loon  I'll  be 

and  kick  a  hole  right  through  the  sky  ! 

Done !     Now  all  of  us  form  a  ring  around 

Ma  Familias,  Old  Mother  Dream, 

who  each  day  sends  up  four  meals  to  us, 

through  our  uncle,  Careless  Care  ! 

Done  !    Now  all  of  us  sing  the  food  she  brought, 

she,  herself,  climbing  all  those  stairs  : 

To-day,  this  day,  this  very-very  day, 

to-day  did  she  our  poem  sell  ! 

Done  !     Now  dance  the  old  girl  dizzy  : 

To-day  did  she  our  poem  sell ! 

To-day,  this  day,  this  very-very  day, 

To-day  did  she  this  poem  sell ! 


28  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 

Every  Morning 

Our  halls  are  very  dark. 

But  not  so  dark  we  cannot  see, 

every  morning, 

a  bent  old  figure, 

kneeling, 

on  the  steps  or  in  the  halls, 

scrubbing — 

what  you  call  a  janitress. 

Good  morning,  she  says. 

Good  morning,  say  we. 

Our  halls  are  very  dark. 

But  not  so  dark — 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  29 


Nocturne. 


The  pantaloons  are  dancing, 
dancing  through  the  night, 
pure  white  pantaloons, 
underneath  the  moon, 
on  a  jolly  wash  line, 
skipping  from  my  room, 
over  to  Miranda, 
who  washed  them  this  noon. 


30  BRUNO    CHAP  BOOKS 

What  can  you  do? 

It's  absurd,  I  know, 
to  be  so  happy. 
Still  worse,  I  know, 
to  be  a  fool: 
And  worst,  I  know, 
to  have  no  reason: 
To  be  so  happy, 
without  a  sou. 

Come  search  my  pockets, 
and  you  can't  find  one. 
Still  worse,  my  home; 
you'll  find  me  poor. 
And  worst,  my  credit: 
you'll  find  me  pauper. 
To  be  so  happy, 
without  a  sou? 

Tobacco's  gone, 
but  I  am  happy. 
The  next  meal,  where? 
I'm  happier  still: 
absurd,  I  know 
(but  what  can  you  do?) 
that  I'm  so  happy, 
without  a  sou. 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  31 


Fugue 


Philosophy  ? 

Oh  yes  ! 

To  live, 

loving, 

creating. 

Faith  ? 

Oh  yes! 

A  belief  in  you, 

and  you  and  you, 

in  spite  of  your  you 

and  your  you  for  you. 

L,abor? 

Oh  yes  ! 

That  my  me  and  you 

may  become  or  grow 

toward  a  you  and  me. 

Guerdon  ? 

Ah  yes  ! 

Your  belief  in  me, 

and  my  me  for  you, 

in  spite  of  my  me 

and  my  me  for  me. 

Heaven  ? 

Yes! 

To  die, 

created, 

living. 


32  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 

To  a  Maltese 

Tell  me,  little  cat,  stop  and  tell  me,  little  cat  : 
Wherefore  is  life,  think  you? 

You're  poking  that  paper  ball,  little  cat : 
You're  poking  that  paper  ball. 

Tell  me,  little  cat,  stop  and  tell  me,  little  cat 
Wherefore  is  life,  think  you  ? 

You're  lapping  away  your  milk,  little  cat  : 
You're  lapping  away  your  milk. 

Tell  me,  little  cat,  stop  and  tell  me,  little  cat 
Wherefore  is  life,  think  you  ? 

You're  washing  your  soft  gray  coat,  little  cat : 
You're  washing  your  soft  gray  coat. 

Tell  me,  little  cat,  stop  and  tell  me,  little  cat 
Wherefore  is  life,  think  you  ? 

You're  purring  and  falling  asleep,  little  cat  : 
You're  purring  and  falling  asleep      .     .     . 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  33 


Etching 


There  were  seven  in  all, 

clothed  in  black, 

seven  silent  crows, 

standing, 

not  quite  vertical, 

around  an  ebony  box  ; 

and  in  the  box, 

an  eighth, 

lying  quite  horizontal. 


34  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 


Blood. 


You  owe  a  duty  to  your  father. 
But  you  owe  a  greater  to  your  sons. 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  35 


Prejudice. 


Little  mouse: 

Are  you 

some  rat's  little  child  ? 

I  wont  love  you  if  you  are. 


36  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 


Paradox. 


Foolish  Woman! 
Love  her — 
she  asketh  more. 
Foolish  man! 
Love  him — 
he's  satisfied. 
Foolish  Woman! 
Loves  you — 
she's  satisfied. 
Foolish  Man  ! 
Loves  you — 
he  asketh  more. 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  37 


Scherzetto. 

Stop,  queer  little  dear  ! 

Why  is  a  kiss  ? 

I  don't  know. 

You  don't? 

No! 

Then  why  do  you  do  it  ? 

Love  ! 


Yes! 

And  why  is  love  ? 

I  don't  know. 

Yon  don't  ? 

No! 

And  why  don't  you  know? 

Because  ! 

Because  ? 

Yes! 

Come,  queer  little  dear! 


38  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 


Serenade. 


Little  wild  rose  in  the  glass: 
Who  was  it — 
Bold  and  inquisitive  sir: 
The  lady. 

Little  wild  rose  in  the  glass: 
When  was  it — 
Bold  and  inquisitive  sir: 
At  bed  time. 

Little  wild  rose  in  the  glass: 
God  keep  you, 
Bold  and  inquisitive  sir: 
Pm  lonely. 

Little  wild  rose  in  the  glass: 
I'll  bring  you — 
Little  wild  rose  in  the  glass: 
A  comrade. 

Bold  and  inquisitive  sir: 
Good  night  then. 
Little  wild  rose  in  the  glass: 
Good  night. 


BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS  39 


Self  Portrait. 

All  of  these, 

and  if  there  are  more, 

all  of  those,  too, 

record  her. 

And  she  ? 

She 

is  all  of  these, 

all  of  those — 

and  more. 

I? 

The  air  is  wine, 

and  I 

am  Bacchus. 


40  BRUNO    CHAP    BOOKS 

Christian  Hymn. 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Hell, 
Farther  from  Thee. 
Love,  God,  in  Thee  is  well, 
Blood,  God,  in  me. 
Blood-stench  this  earth  shall  smell, 
This  earth  become  a  sea. 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Hell, 
Farther  from  Thee. 


L-'ALC       LXUC 

IKR 

1970 

MAR  4 

1970  0 

-EP17 

19(9 

FACILIT 

2 

Library  Bureau  Cat.  No.  1137 

